Redemption
by Zealak Silverdirk
Summary: Drago, a former Russian boxer, is determined to live as normally as possible. But, a teenager is convincing him otherwise, to pick up his gloves and start over with a fresh slate. Rated T, full summary inside. Review appropriately is all I ask.
1. Chapter 1

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Дискавери

"Discovery"

_After his honourable defeat, Ivan Drago began to respect his much smaller opponent Rocky. And, when he meets a young teenager, who asks a very important question, he will find just how much he learned from Rocky's previous example, and prove to the Soviet Union and all of Russia that he could rise from the ashes of his former fame and prove himself through the way of a true victor._

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I

_First Encounters_

Walking about the main streets of Russia's small town, Drago looked thoughtfully about him. He had been much more observant of his surroundings when he had been taken from his training, steroids no longer part of his daily routine. It was a relief, to finally get a chance at normality, to respect the boxer who had beaten him those few years ago.

He noticed everything that passed him by, instead of carelessly brushing the everyday sounds out of his mind, concentrating on beefing up. Drago smiled, an extremely rare occurrence for the former vicious boxer. 'I now notice the days as they should be ('Я теперь уведомление дни как они должны быть'),' Ivan thought jubilantly to himself.

Stowing his thickly-mittened hands farther into his coat pockets, Drago shivered slightly in the cold winter noon. The sun was just beginning to heat up the cobbled streets, though it had been up for hours. It peeked from behind a row of shops and houses clustered together in the little town.

Squinting in the bright light, Ivan headed for the grocer's, hoping to buy another few rubles' worth of food. The little bell over the door tinkled madly as he opened it, denouncing his presence to the customers and employees inside. Wall to wall was stacked with everything a town could imagine. Newspapers, food, and other necessities. In one corner, there was a small meat counter, a gruff, bearded man stood behind it, stripping the remaining fat from a piece of venison.

Turning to face a different corner of the store, he caught sight of what he had been searching for. A few rows of bread stacked neatly atop each other, still fresh, ready to be picked up and bought. Beside it were a variety of buns, pies, and pastries, shelved next to cans of pie crust and filling.

Picking up one of the warm loaves, and clutching a package of tarts, Drago went to the front counter, which was right next to the door, to pay for his purchases. Digging out a few large coins from his pocket, he placed them on the wood counter; the employee scraped the coins off and calculated his change. Handing the remainder of his change back, the cashier returned to counting the money in the register.

Exiting the store, Drago walked with less haste down the streets. His current errand done, he could enjoy the rest of the day.

The loaf and package tucked firmly into the crook of his elbow, the former Russian boxer's eyes never missed a beat of what was going on around him. People were coming to and from stores, a few in thread-bare clothing peering out from whiskered eyebrows at passers-by, while they stood next to a small store-front.

Ivan's boots still crunching against the snow-covered streets, he did not notice when he bumped into something.

"Hey! Watch where you are going!" ("Эй! Часы, где вы будете!") she yelled, her eyes blazing anger.

Drago finally got the chance to look down. It was a young teenager, probably around fifteen or sixteen. Her hair was the typical blonde, though close to golden brown in some places, and her eyes were iced-blue. She had a scarf wrapped around her, and a thick coat that seemed to keep out all the weather could dish out. It was no wonder he had accidently knocked into her, she was definitely a lot smaller, compared to his massive frame, and she was even smaller than most at her age.

"Sorry, I did not see you there," ("Простите, я не вижу Вас,") he answered back, clearly blown away by her harsh manner.

"Of course, how could you? Go on, make fun of my size! Everyone does!" ("Конечно, как вы могли? Продолжайте, смеяться над мои размеры! Каждый делает!") she snapped back, obviously she had brushed the apology aside with a flick of her flaming eyes.

"Why? Since when did size matter in anything?" ("Почему? С каких это вопрос не размера, ни в чем?") Drago asked, plainly curious.

Before she even thought of answering, her eyes lit up and her jaw dropped in complete awe. "You are Ivan Drago!" ("Вы, Иван Драго!") Apparently, he had not changed a lot if it took so few words passed between the two to understand who he was.

"Yes, but I do not find that much of a badge of honour to wear, save that I was beaten by a worthy opponent," ("Да, но я не считаю, что большая часть пропуска в честь носить, исключением того, что я был избит достойный оппонент,") he shrugged dismissively, obviously still guilty about his past. Sitting down on a nearby bench, out of the way of street traffic, the two continued there conversation.

"You were everything that the Soviet Union was grasping for, but you proved them wrong! You proved that man cannot become machine!" ("Ты же все то, что Советский Союз, хватаются за но вы доказали, что они были неправы! Вы доказали, что мужчина не может стать машина!") clearly, she had done a fair bit of research to figure all of this out.

"I proved that, and I learned some, but what does it matter?" ("Я доказал, что и я узнал кое-что, но то, что это важно?")

"What does it matter?! What does it matter, you say?! You showed everyone out there, that you can't beat anyone with just muscle; without heart!" ("Что же это вопрос! Что это важно, говорите! Вы показали всем, тем, что нельзя бить никого без сердца!") this girl seemed to have done a lot of time for research and careful study to figure all of this out and spout it at a stranger.

Not liking where this conversation was centering around -boxing- he decided to change the subject to something more simplictic. "What is your name? I believe you already know mine." ("Как вас зовут? Я полагаю, Вы уже знаете моей.")

"I am Roksana, but most call me Serafima Roksana," ("Я огнем одного Рассвет, но большинство звоните мне Рассвет,") she answered. "Serafima is my pet name, because I am so passionate about arguing, and sometimes become hostile." (огнем одного Для меня домашнее животное имя, потому что я так увлекает утверждая, а иногда становились враждебными.")

Ivan Drago nodded, his expression showing that he was soaking in the information, comparing her pet name with her personality.

"By the way, are you ever going to box again, or was that just a one-time appearance?" ("Кстати, вы когда-нибудь будем опять квадрат, или, что всего один раз?") Roksana looked up at the tall Russian, her face alight with curiousity.

"I- I do not know. I have not considered ever trying again," ("Я - я не знаю. Я никогда не пытаются снова",) Drago replied, taken aback by such a question, presented in the bluntest way possible. He could barely remember ever hearing himself speak like that, let alone hear someone else say it to him now.

"But... why? You would prove to the Soviet Union that people cannot be made into machines, that will and desire is stronger than any amount of brute force and strength. You could show them that you could do whatever you pleased, and win, without using their "scientific methods". You could learn to box again," ("Но... зачем? Вы хотели доказать СССР, что люди не могут превращаться в машины, что воля и желание сильнее, чем любое количество грубой силы и прочности. Вы могли бы показать им, что вы можно делать все, что вам приятно, а победить, не используя их "научными методами". Можно научиться коробку",) Roksana delved deep into the heart of the discussion, never faltering.

"I do not know. This is all just hopes and guesswork," ("Я не знаю. Это всего лишь надежды и догадки,") Drago pointed out, deflating Roksana's confidence a little.

"But... you could _still_ show the Soviet Union that you never needed what they had to become a boxer. You just need a good trainer." ("Но ... Вы могли бы показать еще Советский Союз, что вы никогда не нужно то, что он имел стать боксером. Вы Просто хорошие инструктора.")

"Exactly. Without a trainer, none of this will even get off the ground." ("Совершенно верно. Без инструктора, все это будет даже приступить.") Drago was pessimistic about the whole thing, and he wasn't afraid to show it. 'Why did I even start this conversation?' ("Почему я даже начать этот разговор?") he thought miserably to himself.

"Anyways, I can see you are fairly busy, so I won't keep you. Perhaps I shall see you again, at the training center," ("Немцы, я вижу, вы довольно занят, Иван Драго поэтому я не буду держать вас. Возможно, я буду видеть вас снова, в учебном центре",) Roksana hinted as she stood up, ready to start on home.

"Perhaps," ("Возможно,") Ivan Drago replied, watching her leave. Maybe he _could _box again. But then, who knew if two Russians, one an over-imaginative teenager and a dismal former boxer could even make it. But... what if they could?

'Perhaps,' ("Возможно,") he said again, to himself.

_To be continued..._

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_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

_Fortunately, I do not own ROCKY, or any of the products and individuals enclosed in the movie, (if I did everything would be a complete blob of junk), so, that's my wordy disclaimer right there._

_Roksana means "DAWN", and Serafima means "FIERY ONE". Roksana Serafima in this case will mean "fiery dawn". Her pet name is not used very much, and you rarely will hear a last name, if at all. Ivan Drago is, of course, not one of my own characters, but don't be angry about how I turned about his attitude. The movie never conveyed his thoughts, only what he said, so such things cannot be fully determined, though you can be sure he has a good side, and guilt. Ruble is Russia's currency._

_The Russian wording is there because, after all, they do live in Russia, and that is basically what their speech would look like. As for the pronunciation, you'll have to ask someone who can easily dictate Russian, as I only used a beta translator. It is also there to put some individuality into the type of story I am writing, so that anyone who can read Russian or English will fully understand the conversation._

_Hopefully, you like my story, and you'll review it. I'm quite pleased to have the chance to add in my own Rocky fanfic, and get the whole subject better known to others._

**_Zealak Silverdirk_**


	2. Chapter 2

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**II**

_Strength of Will and Mind_

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Roksana turned back and looked almost demandingly at him, her eyes sending the silent message for him to come to the training ring. Before he could glance curiously back, she disappeared into an alleyway, a small one, made by two stores pressed unrealistically close together. It was a wonder she would even think of going through there, let alone fit, even for her small size.

When she was gone from sight, Ivan Drago thoughtfully stroked his chin with an index finger, considering if he should actually pay this ambitious teenager the request and duty she had laid upon him.

'I shall think about it,' ('Я буду думать о ней,') he said to himself, brushing away the lingering thoughts and worries that she had dug up from his past. Standing up slowly, Drago finally decided to head off home, though for some reason, he didn't want to. He wanted to think about what he had just heard, take it all in, consider it, figure it out. _Decide_.

Keeping to a fast pace, the tall Russian wanted to get home as soon as he could, to think about the matter in a better environment. Something about his home always helped him to think better. Maybe the familiarity of so many decisions made before.

Fumbling with his gloved hands to find his keys, Ivan Drago stood on the front steps of his small house as he unlocked the door. His wife was not home, nor would she be for a few years to come. She was off with the Soviet Union, looking for more ways to program soldiers like machines. Apparently, Drago's attempt had started her appreciation and curiousity on the subject.

'Perhaps a better environment to make decisions in,' ('Возможно, улучшению условий для принятия решений в,') he thought. The last thing that he had agreed on had led to his daily use of steroids and intense training. Eventually the death of Apollo Creed, and his non-sanctioned fight in the ring with the champion, Rocky Balboa.

Guilt shot through him as he remembered Apollo, barely moving on the floor of the ring, everyone crowding around him. And those words. Those words that he himself had spoken. Burning into him and everyone around. _"If he dies, he dies."_ Stabs of agony, digging into him cruelly.

Setting down the bundle on the small kitchen table, Drago headed to the living room, where the small television and his favourite armchair were located. Sitting down into the cushion, he ignored the television. He wanted his thoughts clear and crisp, untainted by news and commercials advertising all manner of things.

_--_

Slipping into the house with ease, Roksana silently closed the front door, locking it behind her. A pot was simmering on the stove, and the tea was ready. Placing her thick coat on the hook by the doorway, she entered the kitchen. With deft, practised ease, she snatched up the full kettle and tossed it lightly and carelessly into the air. Catching it as it came near the wooden floor, Roksana balanced it in one hand as she opened a cupboard and gathered a few mugs.

Barely regarding the fact that she could spilled boiling water everywhere, including herself, Roksana poured the water into each mug, plopped in a teabag, along with a spoon, sugar and cream. Without calling her family that the drink was ready, she went on oblivious, watching that the pot perched on the stove would not boil over.

Not long after, a middle-aged woman thumped in, wanting to indicate her presence to the irresponsible teenager watching the stove with indifference. "And you could not call any of us down when our tea was ready? Do you think you are the only one in this house Roksana Sevana?" ("И вы не могли позвонить любому из нас, когда наш чай готов? Считаете ли вы, что вы - единственный человек в этом доме заре Севана?")

Sighing deeply and rolling her eyes, Roksana sipped her tea, paying no heed to the lecture her mother had carefully selected out from her long list. 'Yes, I know. Need to think more of others. Be more considerate, it's the only way you will ever get a husband, I know.' ('Да, я знаю. Нужна больше думать о других. Будьте более внимательны, это единственный способ вы станете мужем, я знаю.')

When the kitchen fell silent again, Roksana figured it was either because her mother had asked her a question, or she was finally finished with her lecture.

With no sign that she had even heard the lecture, Roksana pulled the pot from the stove, and drained the access water. Still ignoring her mother, who was bursting in silent outrage, the teenager spooned out vegetable soup into six bowls. "Dinner!" ("Ужин!") she screeched, grabbing a bowl and her mug and snatching the best place at table.

A young boy of about six flew down the stairs, knocking something over in the process. "I will fix that later!" he called implusively up the stairs. Rushing to the kitchen, he stopped completely when he saw Roksana sitting in the favoured seat of the house, right next to the warm stove. "Hey, why does she always get the best spot?" ("Эй, почему она всегда в лучших местах?") he whined, like all six year olds did.

"Because, I actually have to do something to get the meal done," ("Потому что я действительно что-то сделать, чтобы получить обед сделали,") she sneered, watching her brother trying to grab a mug from the counter. Handing it down to him, Roksana's mother shook her head in defeat. Roksana had always been a born arguer, from the day she learned to talk she always had something to debate, it wasn't worth the bother.

Soon, the rest of the family, including her father and two brothers were all seated at the table. Each dug into their regular meal of potatoes, soup, mixed vegetables and roast, smothered heavily in thick, rich gravy. Knives scraped against plates for about half the meal, until Roksana's father broke the proverbial ice.

"So, Roksana... What were you doing out today? Weren't you supposed to help your mother clean the house?" ("Значит, Roksana ... Чем вы занимались сегодня? Если бы не вы должны помочь вашей матери убирать дом?")

"I already finished it. Anyways, I did not do anything really special today, except for one thing..." ("Я уже закончил его. В лубом случае, я не сделал что-нибыдь реально экстренный выпуск сегодня, за исключением одного вещи...") Roksana paused dramatically, her eyes sweeping around the table to take in everyone's facial expression of interest. "I met Ivan Drago today." ("Я встретил Ивана Драго сегодня.")

There was a surprised silence. Her father raised his eye brows almost up to his depleting hairline, and her mother's eyes were wide with shock. But, of course, the eldest brother, Borya (his nickname for Boris), began to laugh outrageously.

"Of course you met him, dear sister..." ("Конечно Вы встретили его, дорогая сестра ...") he could no longer finish his sentence he was laughing so hard.

"Right! We all know that he would never meet you unless he trampled you under his boots!" ("Право! мы знаем, что он никогда не встречал бы Вы, если он не растаптывал Вы под его ботинками!") the second eldest, Danil, piped up. This caused even more laughter.

"Roksana, lying like that is not a good thing to do. If you did not have an exciting time out there, then at least be kind enough to tell the truth," ("Рассвет, лежа как этот не хорошая вещь, чтобы сделать. Если Вы не имели захватывающего времени там, то по крайней мере быть достаточно любезным, чтобы говорить правду,") her mother said softly.

Roksana's eyes blazed. How dare they! Her argumentative, agressive nature was taking over her rationality. "Fine! If you do not believe me, than I cannot force you to, but you will regret making fun of me!" ("Отлично!, Если Вы не верите мне, чем я не могу вынудить Вы к, но Вы будете сожалеть высмеять меня!") Standing up in a flourish of anger, she didn't say a word, not trusting herself. Soon, she was grabbing her coat and slamming the door behind her; running.

She had no idea what she was thinking, or even why she had had the sense to grab her coat. Going outside would just prolong another lecture about outbursts and lying, so why was she out here? Did she really think that Ivan Drago was going to take up her request? Maybe this was just some strange dream, and she would wake up knowing that she was just another boring Russian teenager, who was too outspoken for her own good. But... that wasn't possible. Just because it felt like a dream now, didn't mean it wasn't true. _Right_?

_To be continued..._

--

_Alright, a second chapter. Not as great as the first one, and extremely late in coming from what I had planned, but, not everything turns out the way you anticipate. The scene where Roksana fools around with the teapot was completely random, but I'd probably do the same thing if I had the chance._

_Ugh, I doubt this neglected chapter will measure up to the first one, I always have story issues like that, but I am _determined_ to finish this story, if only for your sakes. Pardon that it took so long to update. Blame my parents for that._

_Zealak Silverdirk_


	3. Chapter 3

III

You're Not Very Convincing

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Roksana sat moodily up in her old treehouse. There wasn't much one could call their own in in a Communist country, but the rotting crates and skids nailed haphazardly to the tree were, to say the least, better than any cathedral sanctuary to her. In the past, Roksana imagined that she really was the outcasted Quasimodo, shunned from the world, deaf, and practically insane from lack of human compassion. Not exactly something to share around the kitchen table.

In any case, the hand-me-down treehouse, which had been neglected for years, had remained Roksana's favourite place to sulk.

She could hardly blame her family for responding so unfavourably, but so what if you didn't meet a local ex-celebrity everyday? Life had been so boring it practically owed her. And anyway, there was no guarantee she would ever see Drago again. It would be difficult to take such a bizarre request seriously. She swore under her breath.

"You _are_ an idiot, Roksana." ("Ты идиот, Роксана.") But she made up her mind to go past the training centre tomorrow, with the excuse of visiting a friend of hers who had taken up with the boxing craze. If Drago made an appearance she would be successful, and if he didn't at least she wouldn't look completely foolish.

One problem solved.

The skid she was sitting on creaked ominously. Roksana leaned into a crook in the tree, shifting a good deal of her weight. The treehouse's poor construction and upkeep had kept even her two younger brothers on the ground, but Roksana had a stubborn attachment to the thing.

"Serafima, where are you?!" ("Серафима, где ты?!") Someone chanted in a sing-song. Borya had obviously been commissioned to look for her this time. If she were completely honest with herself, Roksana knew he would probably find her in a matter of minutes—it wasn't much of a secret that she still hung out in his old "tree dump"-but she didn't want to be found. Not when she was still smarting from her family's quips.

"Be a good little sister and stop worrying your big brother." ("Будьте хорошим сестренку и перестать беспокоиться твой старший брат.") His voice was getting closer. Borya was practically stomping through the wooded area, scattering leaves and cracking branches with his heavy boots. "Stubborn mule," ("Упрямый мул,") he mumbled.

"I resent that," ("Я возмущен, что,") Roksana said finally.

Borya stood directly below her, arms crossed with a pouty smile. "What's going on little Serafima?" ("Что происходит немного Серафима?")

Roksana snorted. "Think about it. For once in my life something interesting happens and my own family won't even believe me." ("Подумай об этом. На этот раз в моей жизни происходит что-то интересное и моя собственная семья даже не поверил мне.")

"Come on, you know you're not very convincing. You've always been the most dramatic of the family." ("Ну, вы знаете, что вы не очень убедительно. Ты всегда был самым драматичным в семье.")

"Well, that's just it! You think what you like without once considering whether I might be telling the bald-faced truth, Borya." ("Ну, вот и оно! Вы думаете, что вам нравится, ни разу не рассматривает ли я мог бы говорить наглая правда, Боря.")

Borya kept looking from his sister to the tree, obviously trying to figure out how to get up there, or how to get her to come down. He sighed. "So, what if you _are_ telling the truth?" ("Так что, если вы говорите правду?")

Roksana leaned forward so fast the tree groaned in protest. "I. Met. Ivan. Drago. Isn't that amazing? The Soviet's best boxer talked to me. Me!" ("Я. встретил. Ивана. Драго. Разве это не удивительно? Лучший боксер Советского разговаривал со мной. Меня!")

"What'd he say to you?" ("Что он тебе сказал?")

"I asked him if he would box again. He didn't exactly say yes, but he didn't say no either." ("Я спросил его, если он снова коробку. Он точно не сказал, да, но он никогда не сказала нет либо".) Roksana's eyes were bright with the prospect.

Her brother was also a boxing enthusiast, but he liked to think that he was a rational and responsible man. He approached it from a more conservative perspective. "That _is_ really cool. But why would he listen to you?" ("Это действительно здорово. Но почему он тебя слушать?")

She deflated a little and leaned back again. "I don't know. But... he looked like he really was thinking about it. Is it so wrong to get my hopes up?" ("Я не знаю. ... Но он, похоже, действительно думал об этом. Разве это так неправильно, чтобы получить мои надежды?")

Borya could only shrug.

xxx

"Why?" ("Почему?") A clock in the hallway chimed the hour. Ivan Drago stared unseeing out the window of his spartan kitchen.

It might have been his dream to become a professional boxer, but it had so quickly become wrapped up in other things: the expectations of his wife, the prestige of the Soviet Union, the technology and tests, the constant striving to be the best.

What did it even mean to be the best? In the end, all the training in the world could not have defeated the "Italian Stallion"-the little man strong as iron.

"Am I even capable of starting over?" ("Разве я способен даже начать сначала?") he wondered.

By the time he had learned that to fight well was to fight with your own power it was too late, and he—Drago, not the Soviet Union—had lost. It scared him to start over.

At the worst times he was trapped within his own personal hell, reliving every single moment of Apollo Creed's death—no, murder!- with ghoulish clarity. Lights, cameras, action, screaming, crying, and then... the stillness of death.

Not to say that death in the ring didn't happen, but Ivan knew so well that he had wanted to crush that snide Apollo, had wanted to prove himself to a cold audience - a cold Communism. And yet as soon as he left the ring he knew he had lost.

"Is there room for a coward to start over?" ("Есть ли место для труслив, чтобы начать все сначала?")

The kitchen was silent.

xxx

To be continued...

_The name of this chapter is a personal chastening. I said I would finish, and obviously I can't even convince myself. Oi. Anyways, I finally decided that the English was waaay too stiff, so I switched it to conversational. The Russian translation will still be formal, since I honestly have no idea how they deal with things like contractions and slang. But if you're curious about pronunciation, check it out in Google Translate, it seems to be helpful._


	4. Chapter 4

"Yet we don't give up on boxing, it isn't that easy" Joyce Carol Oates, _On Boxing_

* * *

IV  
Try Again

* * *

"Just come back to the house, Serafima. Don't mind what the rest of the family says. Hell, don't mind what I say."("Только что вернулся в дом, Серафима. Не возражаю, что остальные члены семьи говорит. Черт, не против, что я говорю".) Borya sighed. "If Drago meets you again like he said he will... it's just good to see you passionate about something even in this mess of a country." ("Если Драго встречает вас снова, как он сказал, что ... это просто рад тебя видеть любите то даже в этом беспорядке страны.")

Roksana sniffed and swiped a hand under her nose. "Now you're just trying to sound responsible, Mr. Boris." ("Теперь вы просто пытаетесь казаться ответственный, Борис.") Borya grinned. "Aren't I, though?" ("Разве я, правда?")

His sister laughed and climbed tentatively back down to the ground. "So, will you ever believe me?" ("Итак, вы когда-нибудь мне веришь?")

"Get me a polaroid and I'll believe it." ("Дайте мне Polaroid, и я верю в это.")

"Nothing less for my favourite brother," ("Не что иное для моего любимого брата,") she chuckled.

xxx

Roksana watched only half interested as one boxer performed a poor combination of jabs. Klyde was easily one of the worst boxers in the place, but he was always there trying to improve. Roksana was grateful that he'd been forced to wear headgear. The trainers often told Klyde not to quit his day job.

An alarming number of boxers were bulky and heavy, trying to desperately imitate the stereotypical body-builder frame of recent heavyweights. But there were still plenty of average looking young men around; either lanky and spry or compact and skilled.* Klyde was technically part of neither category, but he was definitely better than when he'd first discovered boxing.

"Take a rest, you two," ("Отдохни, вы двое,") the trainer called.

Klyde leaned heavily on the ropes by Roksana. "That guy is intense," ("Этот парень интенсивным,") he wheezed.

Roksana was ruthless. "Well, he's better than you." ("Ну, он лучше, чем вы.")

"Toss me a towel, would you? What's up, anyways? You've been here everyday for the past week. It was easier to show off once a week instead of every day." ("Бросок мне полотенце, не так ли? В чем дело, так или иначе? Ты здесь каждый день в течение прошлой недели. Это было легче, чтобы показать один раз в неделю, а не каждый день.")

She smiled half-heartedly. "You're right. I usually forget how bad you are by the end of the week. But I think you're better than last week." ("Вы правы. Я обычно забывают, как плохо вы к концу недели. Но я думаю, что ты лучше, чем на прошлой неделе.")

Klyde scrubbed at his hair with the towel. "That's the nicest thing you've said all day, Serafima." ("Это хорошая вещь, которую вы сказали, в течение всего дня, Серафима".)

Roksana sighed. "Truthfully I'd been hoping someone would show up by now." ("Честно говоря, я надеялся, что кто-то был бы появиться в настоящее время.")

"No way, I thought I'd finally caught you!" ("Нет, я не думал, что я, наконец, поймал тебя!")

"That's gross, Kly. Stick to boxing." ("Это валовые, Kly. Придерживайтесь боксе".)

"So who's the guy?" ("Так кто же он?")

Roksana stared the ceiling. "Well, he was almost professional. Quit when he was in a bad spot-" ("Ну, он был почти профессиональным бросить, когда он был в плохом месте -")

"Waitwaitwait, how _old _is this guy?" ("Подождите, подождите, подождите, сколько лет этот парень?")

"What's it to you, anyway? Pretty sure he's mid-twenties. Ridiculously tall." ("Что это вам, так или иначе? Довольно уверен, что он середине двадцатых годов. Смешно высотой.")

A familiar voice sounded close by. "I figured you'd be the only girl in this place. I hope you don't walk home by yourself." ("Я полагал, что ты будешь единственной девушкой в этом месте. Я надеюсь, что вы не ходите дома самостоятельно.") Klyde and Roksana shot toward the sound. Klyde gasped.

"You're really here," ("Ты действительно здесь,") couldn't help staring.

Ivan Drago nodded timidly. "It was a hard decision. Sorry for the wait." ("Это было трудное решение. Извините за ожидание.")

Klyde was completely starstruck. "Y-you mean, you... you were talking about _him_? Ivan Drago? Death from Above?" ("Вы имеете в виду, вы ... вы говорите о нем? Иваном Драго? Смерть с Небес?")

Drago winced. "Please don't use that title." ("Пожалуйста, не используйте этот титул.")

"So you'll really try again?" ("Таким образом, вы будете действительно попробовать еще раз?") Roksana chewed her lip to relieve her tension. Klyde could only look back and forth between the two until his trainer called him back to practice.

"I'll try." ("Я постараюсь".)

xxx

_To be continued..._

_I updated a lot slower with this chapter because I wanted to do some research into boxing. I was mostly interested in the basic skills and the psychology of the sport, but I'd like to think I learned some useful things. If you get the chance, check out Joyce Carol Oates' book "_On Boxing_." It was a surprisingly good read. Sorry that this chapter is so ridiculously short, but I really want to get something on the table, and this is really as far as this chapter needs to be._

*Not to say that fast-moving boxers aren't skilled, but they have a distinct advantage with speed that lets them get away with sloppier punches. Slower boxers have to play their punches with more care because they won't have nearly as many chances to hit their opponent. Muhammad Ali in his prime vs. his older self is an excellent example.


End file.
